Cinderella
by Your Worshipfulness
Summary: The truth behind Mrs. Norris' and Filch's bond is revealed to be more complex than most imagined. Ficlet-sweet, humorous, generally satisfying. Worth the read.


**Cinderella**

Not my usual poison, I know, but for some reason this plot bunny jumped out at me and I was forced to write. I own nothing except the plot. The details of this story are left comfortably vague for your convenience.

"Another day of cleaning up after those brats," Flich muttered, throwing a filthy rag into the dustbin. "Another day over and another night of catching the brats out of their common rooms ready to begin," he added. Mrs. Norris meowed at him, the sound plaintive and soothing. "I know, pet, you work just as hard as I do. Harder really! And for what? All they give you is room and board. You should be wearing diamond-studded collars and ruby bracelets."

Another meow, this time approving, and Mrs. Norris jumped from the ground to Argus' shoulder. She nuzzled his neck, sneezing once at the scent of floor cleaner and stale vomit. Argus nodded tiredly and pressed his hand to a special box mounted on his wall.

Flitwick had made it for him during his second year working for Dumbledore. It was an ingenious work of charms and runes that allowed him to create a copy of himself that roamed the corridors. If any student was caught by the slow-moving image of him, he would be alerted, but that was unlikely. Usually the students were spry enough to avoid the phantom. He could now relax, trusting to the methodical image of himself to scare any kiddies back to bed. He did not often use the box, but tonight was definitely the night for it.

With a tired sigh, he moved toward his bathroom, dodging old clothes and half-buried cat toys. Normally house elves would come and collect the clothes, but after the 'incident' three years ago, they had refused to enter his room. He was now required to place his clothing in a hamper just inside the hidden hallway that led to his quarters. He had not gotten around to it this week. Still, besides the misplaced objects, his room was not actually dirty. He did not mind mess; it was filth he objected to. His rooms were kept clean but untidy, even without benefit of house elves, by one Severus Snape. The man popped in once a week to mutter a quick cleaning charm, asking only in return that he be notified if certain persons were caught out of bed. Naturally, Argus was only too happy to comply.

The bathroom was painted white with white fixtures, which annoyed Filch to no end. Some odd compulsion in him prevented him from dirtying a white surface, especially something so pristinely white as his bathroom was. Once he had stepped onto the blinding white tiles with dirty boots and was unable to continue on until he had cleaned it off to a perfect sheen. If the bathroom had even been a nice beige or off-white he would have been saved hours of scrubbing. As it was, he simply disrobed before he entered the bathroom, stepping into the shower quickly, lest some of the encrusted dirt fall onto the tiles.

"Coming, pet?" he asked, holding the shower curtain open politely. Mrs. Norris, unlike some cats, did not have an aversion to water. She enjoyed showering with him, even to the point of forcing him to shower more often so she could play under the cascading faucet.

Argus soaped up and rinsed quickly, doing no more than running the water through his hair. He had more to worry about than the state of his hair, anyway, such as children out of beds at all hours of the night. He pulled a towel off the rack, drying himself off inside the shower before throwing the towel down to step onto it. He had a system down, whereby he could avoid marring a single surface of his bathroom.

"Come on, luv," he said, patting the towel. Mrs. Norris obediently jumped onto the towel and allowed herself to be dried off. As she padded out of the bathroom towards the bed, Argus pulled on a pair of soft, loose pants and a long nightshirt. Picking up the towel, he left the room. The lights flickered out as he went.

Mrs. Norris sat on his bed, the very picture of feline dignity. As he approached, she grabbed the bolster and pulled it down. "Thank you," he said, stretching out on the firm mattress. He could feel his vertebra creaking. "I am getting too old for this," he said with a groan. Mrs. Norris hissed her disagreement with this statement, jumping on to his chest and stretching out. Her red eyes blinked at him, then turned to glance at the clock on his bedside.

"Won't be long now," he said, as if she had spoken. And in her own way, she had. Years of association insured that he could read his feline companion's every thought with barely a glance. The minute hand ticked nearer as midnight approached slowly but surely. At one minute to go, Argus put the last candle out. Bathed in darkness, his eyes sought out the red orbs floating above his chest.

At the stroke of midnight, Mrs. Norris leaned forward. Her expression was eager, if ever a cat could look eager. Argus leaned towards her as well, placing a small kiss against the corner of the cat's mouth. A shimmer started at the top of the cat's furry head, spreading all down the striped body. Yet when it reached the tip of her tail, it continued, spreading down to cover Argus' feet. It faded away slowly, leaving a skinny, naked form laying on top of the caretaker.

"I missed you," Mrs. Norris said, covering the wrinkled face before her in short but loving kisses. "One hour is not enough time," she added, pressing a slightly longer kiss against his lips.

"I missed you too, Agatha," he said, wrapping his arms around the woman.

"Any luck?" Mrs. Agatha Norris asked, the ritual question duly put forth.

"None," he said, his tone had long since ceased being sad and expressed only acceptance. "But I may have found another way."

The older woman sat up, her short hair curling slightly in the back, just as her fur had moments before. "What other way?" her tone was cautious, even slightly suspicious.

"I think we can accept by now that we aren't going to find a cure for this spell, luv," he said, also sitting up. "And I am not willing to live out the rest of my life only being able to be with you for an hour a day. I want to take the Animagus potion."

"Argus, no!" Agatha said, cupping his head between her hands. "You're a squib, you may never be able to change back!"

"I can love you as a cat, as I cannot love you in this form. Besides, it's not that attractive anyway." He smiled at her, "I'm not attached to it at all."

"You're a liar," she said fondly. "And I think you're beautiful," Agatha added, kissing him again.

"You're going to live for another hundred and fifty years, Agatha," he said. "I'm already an old man. I'll take the potion and we can be together until I die and then, maybe they will have found a cure for your… condition."

"What if they cure it tomorrow," she argued, standing up and beginning to pace. Her nakedness was ignored, as was her gait, made clumsy by inexperience walking upright. "I can't balance without my tail and I can't think when I'm off balance," she complained, hissing a bit with frustration.

"There is nothing to think about. They are not going to cure it tomorrow, or the next day, maybe not in the next decade." He smiled a the woman he had loved for most of his adult life. "I want to be with you now."

She sighed, sinking back down onto the bed. "I love you. I want you to be happy."

"And being with you, really with you, will make me happy," he assured her, feeling a surge of triumph. She had practically already agreed now.

"Then you should take the potion," she said, looking down at the body she inhabited, and would inhabit, for the next half hour. She was no longer as firm as she had been, but constant exercise in her cat form had kept her trim. She wasn't too bad, really. Argus had made quite a catch for himself. "After you marry me, of course."

Argus blinked, staring at the woman as she absently kneaded the coverlet. "Did you just-" He cut himself off. "Yes."

She looked up, directly into his eyes. "Really?"

"Merlin, yes! Of course, Agatha!" he said, pulling her to him. He kissed her with the passion of a much younger and better man.

When they pulled away, Agatha looked up at him coyly, through her eyelashes. A half-smile of contentment hovered over her face as she broached the next topic. "How do you feel about kittens?"


End file.
